So It Begins
by The Ashen Leaf
Summary: Albreich is reunited with his best friend, but his best friend isn't who it should be.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N. So this is a little oneshot for a friends OC's on my World of Warcraft forum. It's... Much weirder on the forum, but I hope you enjoy this nonetheless, and for Gwrach's sake, I hope I got it right :). **

A young man, a human boy of about 15, sat in the grass of Nagrand, deeply engrossed in a book that sat on his lap. The book looked old, moth eaten, and musky, as if it hadn't been opened in decades. The pages were frayed, but the book was still in good enough condition to read. He was so interested in the dark sorcery magic that warlocks sometimes used. He smiled a bit when he heard that it can change people.

The boy, his name was Albreich. He had been born and grew up in the Lower Terrace of Shattrath. Albreich wasn't exactly the most atheltic of everyone he knew, but nor was he the most thick. He always liked the unusual. The things that nobody else liked. He wasn't in any kind of training. His father was simply a trader, while his mother had been killed the year before in an accident. Ever since then, Albreich had turned to books as a source of comfort, as his father was never around except for at night.

There was another person he was close to. His best friend, Elijah, who had recently disappeared under mysterious circumstances. It bothered Albreich to the point he couldn't sleep, he couldn't eat, and it was only making him sick and weak. Although he felt awful, and he looked it too. His dark brown, curly hair had lost it's sheen, his pale skin only became more pale, and his blue eyes were sunk in. Every night his father badgered him to see a healer, but he wouldn't. His condition only reminded him of his best friend.

He read on in the book, laying on his stomach in the field of Nagrand. He started to get to pictures that had been engraved into the pages by an artist. The people in the pictures looked so different. They really looked alien. In Albreich's mind, that was fascinating and something he would really like to see in person.

As the Sun dipped down behind the horizon, the normally peaceful fields were given an odd, eerie sense of... Destruction. Of chaos. Of war. Along with this, there was a horrid, sickly, musky scent to the air. It set Albreich on edge. He wasn't armed. He only had a small knife in the lining of his shirt, and it had been dulled when he was whittling a piece of wood out of boredom while he was reading. He sat up, the grass had been parted where he was laying, and looked around. Looking for some kind of clue as to where the presence came from. The stench was nearly making him sick, and he had to turn away from his book to dry heave. A figure in the distance caught his eye as he clutched his stomach, sweat beading up on his hairline.

The figure was all to familiar to him. The slender, muscular build and a semi-square head with hair that draped over his eyes. It was Elijah. Albreich's face lightened at seeing his best friend. But something was different about him. Something he couldn't place.

"Elijah! Where have you... been?" he had to stop between the last two words to dry heave again, as nothing was in his stomach to vomit up. Elijah approached, and the sense of chaos and destruction only became more evident.

"Places. With people. With very _very _fascinating people," Elijah smirked. Albreich looked at him. He wasn't the same. His voice held a tang of arrogance to it. And his eyes... They weren't their normal green. Instead they looked... Black. Onyx black, his eyes were. Albreich shuffled back a few feet, looking up at his friend.

"What- What did they do to you, Elijah?" he asked cautiously.

"Oh, they only enhanced me. Can't you tell?" he said as he walked in a circle around him. Albreich suddenly was scared. This wasn't his best friend anymore. This was someone else. _Something _else.

"Well... It's obvious your stupidness is blinding you, my dear Albreich. Allow me to show you who I am," Elijah spoke with a dire twang to his voice. Albreich watched at Elijah's eyes turned firey orange. His hair receded back into his skull, leaving his head bald. His height changed, making him taller, but his back hunched as he grew. Lines were etched into his face, making him look much older. Around him, a black fog arose, seemingly from the ground and swirled around Elijah's body, head to toe. The fog soon changed into a thick cloth with embroidered designs on it, covering his body. Before it covered his head, Albreich caught a glimpse of many, many deformities on his face. Within just minutes, Elijah was now only a hooded figure.

"Elijah-" Albreich was cut off, as the figured slapped him hard across his face. His hand, though gloved, felt like stone.

"I'm _not _Elijah anymore, Albreich!" the figure yelled as Albreich fell onto the grass, clutching his face. Some blood ran down his cheek. Tears mixed with the blood.

"I am Lazarus. The greatest warlock on this planet. Nobody can stop me. And now, I want you to join me," Lazarus said. His voice was reminiscent to that of broken glass. Albreich wanted to cover his ears, but he could barely move.

"No... I will not join you. Never. I don't want to be a freak," Albreich whimpered and pleaded. Lazarus picked up Albreich by his shirt, as if he weighed nothing. He held him close to his face, their faces barely a breath apart. To Albreich, the stench was foul and it was as if it surrounded him.

"You will join me. You will love me. I will be your leader," Lazrus whispered sickly. As he suspended him in the air, his demonic magic went to work at altering Albreich. His magic went directly into Albreich's veins. The searing pain was more than he could bear, but he couldn't pass out. He couldn't force it. He tried to scream, but nothing happened when he opened his mouth. His veins turned a sickly red color, able to be seen throughout his body. Next, the magic went into his skin, altering it a bit so it was the oxygen deprived color of blue. After he finished with his skin, it was a sick colored lavender. From the ground, fog started to reappear, this time, it wasn't black, but red and blue. It swirled around his body, slicing off the clothes he wore, leaving him nude. It continued and turned into robes. The robes were, as expected, dark red and dark blue, the colors entwined in intricate swirls along the fabric. His hair shortened, and changed to an onyx black, as did his eyes. His face was riddled with demonic runes. The whole process caused him severe pain, but as it ended, he felt the power flow through his extremenites. He felt his muscles strengthen, but his arms stay their size. He opened his new eyes, glaring at Lazarus.

"Perfect, now for-" Lazarus was cut off as the new Albreich pressed his hands on his chest, and using a spell that seemed to come instintually, blasted Lazarus backwards in a flurry of purple and orange flames. Lazarus laid on the ground, clutching his chest in pain.

"Now, for nothing. I told you, I would not join you," Albreich said. His new voice was that of what seemed like rocks falling onto metal, the only way to describe it. Lazarus, injured and weakened, opened up his own portal, and pulled himself through. With a smirk, Albreich turned to his book that laid open on the grass. He picked it up, in a new state of mind. One word caught his attention. The word; Tristwhich.

"Ahh... Perfect," he said as he looked through the book, smiling at each different individual. He closed the book, his fingernails clutching it securely, and started to walk away, each footstep burning the grass on the ground.

_...And so starts the rivalry..._


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N. Okay... So it turns out this isn't going to be just a one shot... Here's chapter two xD. Special warning, blood and gore. **

Chapter 2.

It was late at night, probably around two in the morning. Everyone in the lower terrace of Shattrath was asleep. Some were in lean-to's, some were just on the ground. Albreich- No, Tristwich, always felt lucky to be able to have a house, even if it only had 3 rooms. It suited his needs.

He hadn't seen his father since his transformation into the demon he was now, and he wasn't sure he wanted to see him, but he was thankful that his father went on trading voyage to the goblins over in Area 52. Tristwich was in his old room. It wasn't anything special. He had a low to the ground, twin sized bed, and one set of drawers for his clothing. He did have a window, but the blind was closed.

After he took a moment of simply standing in his room, he sighed, hood covering his face. Tristwich stepped out of the room, and felt the need to do one thing.

He went into his fathers room. It was somewhat more extravagent, with a double sized bed and a wardrobe. The only item of decoration there was in this room was a portrait of Tristwich's long dead mother. His mother had long, beautiful brown hair and striking green eyes. She wore and ornately designed dress that she had created for her and her husbands wedding aniversarry. In the corner of the portrait, in ornate lettering, wrote "Caroline". He stared at it, looking into her eyes, completely enthralled in her. Something seemed different though. Like there was another presence in the room, a presence behind him. He spun around, and their was the ghost of his mother. His eyes widen.

"Mother..." He nearly whispered.

_"What do you do with a drunken sailor? What do you do with a drunken sailor? What do you do with a drunken sailor? Early in the morning," _Caroline's ghost sang. As she did, the room was plunged into that of a ship. Tristwich's heart began to race. He knew the scene. He knew where he was. And he did not want to be here.

_"Shave his belly with a rusty razor, shave his belly with a rusty razor, shave his belly with a rusty razor, shave his belly with a rusty razor, early in the morning," _Her voice sang, though her ghost disappeared, as if she was everywhere in the room. Tristwich watched in horror as the scene played out.

_Caroline stood perfectly on the side of the ship, watching the water. Her long, brown hair was loose of it's usual bindings and it hung down her back, it slightly sent astray from the gentle breeze. Next to where Tristwich stood, was him as a child. An 11 year old boy. His brown, curly hair fell into his eyes. Tristwich watched in horror, unable to stop this. _

_Out from the cabin came a sailor. He held a sword in one hand, and in the other was a nearly drunk bottle of rum. He started to sing along with the voice that only Tristwich could hear. _

_"What do you do with a drunken sailor? What do you do with a drunken sailor? What do you do with a drunken sailor? Early in the morning," the man sang as he approached Caroline. Caroline turned to face him, and then backed up several paces in fear, only to her dismay, she backed up into a corner between barrels and the side of the ship. Albreich watched, his face a mix of confusion and fear, but he could do nothing. He was unarmed. _

_The sailor raised the sword above his head, dropping the bottle of rum, and the bottle shattered. _

_"Shave his belly with a rusty razor, shave his belly with a rusty razor, shave his belly with a rusty razor, shave his belly with a rusty razor, early in the morning," the man continued to sing as he brought the sword down. His mother screamed a blood curtling scream as the sword was stuck in her shoulder, an artery had been severed. Blood poured out, staining her already crimson gown, and she fell onto the wood of the deck with a sick thump. The sword didn't kill her instantly, but only left her mortally wounded and suffering. She was squirming and shaking as her blood stained the wood. The sailor continued to sing as he moved her to her back_

_"Put him in a longboat, till he's sober. Put him in a long boat, till he's sober. Put him in a longboat, till he's sober. Early in the morning," his voice rang out as he stabbed the tip of the sword into the dying womans chest. As he did this, her squirming and screaming stopped. Albreich and Tristwich watched in horror as his mother was killed. Albreich was crying, as he didn't know what to have done. The sailor broke open her chest and stabbed her heart, cutting it in half. It seemed that no one was around to help, even though the whole crew was struggling to apprehend the homocidal drunk._

"No! NO NO NO!" Tristwich screamed. It was too much for him to bear, and he couldn't stand it anymore. He turned to the side, the scene frozen where it was, as he fell to the floor, heaving up his stomach contents. His mother dead was too much for his body. The scene faded around him, and he was left in his fathers room, holding his stomach as he dry heaved.

_"Put him in a barrel with a horsepipe on him. Put him in a barrel with a horsepipe on him. Put him in a barrel with a horsepipe on him. Early in the morning." _The voice sang the last verse before fading into the portrait of the person to which it belongs. Tristwich sat there, on his hands and knees, trembling and sick. It took him a moment, but he stood up and took the sheet from the bed. He covered the portrait with the sheet and took the portrait as he left the house and walked into the night, his book held firmly in the other hand.


End file.
